Элла Франк - Blind Obsession

That’s when he seemed to find his voice again. “You sure?”

Reaching for my sun-warmed breasts, I smiled at his hesitation. He was usually so confident. To catch him off-guard showed me just how much he treasured this gift.

Pinching my nipples, I replied, “Yes, Phillipe. I want to feel you everywhere before I feel you nowhere.”

I heard a pained groan rumble into my ear as his chest vibrated against my back, and his hand moved as he slowly dragged his wet fingers out of my clingy body.

Shifting behind me, he brought up his fingers and pressed down on my bottom lip. “Taste how excited you are, Chantel. Taste how excited you are to be mine.”

Groaning, I took his fingers into my mouth, sucking on them, while rubbing my ass against him.

He pulled me in tight. “Goddamn it.” He growled. “What you’re giving me is sacred.”

I felt a tear fall from my eye at the beauty of the moment and at the thought of not touching him for days.

“I love you,” he told me over and over. “You are perfection.”

As I rocked against him, I knew this was our moment, the exact right place I was supposed to be in.

We were sacred.

* * *

Who am I kidding? I think, throwing the offending journal on the bed. I can’t write this piece anymore. I’m too involved. All of my professional detachment is gone, and all I’m left with is this emotional mess, who is currently curled up on a bed, hating a ghost.

When I first arrived, he was a stranger, and she was a figment of my imagination that I put together from pictures and articles. But now? Now, she is just as real as he is, and with every word she typed, I feel her touching a part of me that I don’t understand.

I don’t want to love either one of them, yet I know that is exactly what has happened. Somewhere between Chantel telling me why she loved him and learning for myself that he was too hard not to love, I have fallen deeply for a man who I barely know and who doesn’t want me. He touches me with every look he gives me, and she touches me with every word she tells me.

I feel as though my heart is being pulled in two separate directions, yet neither direction is the right path for me to choose. She is no longer here, but he won’t let her go. So, where does that leave me? Well, that’s easy. I’m left alone.

Sleep is not my friend tonight. Getting out of bed, I make my way over to the window and look out at the inky sky. The wind is whipping and howling through the vines, and I can almost feel the breeze as it seems to surround and penetrate me. Wrapping my arms across my chest, I take a deep breath before I whisper her name.

“Chantel?” I call, expecting no answer in return. “Help me,” I plead into the empty night sky.

Shaking my head, I try to remind myself that she isn’t real—well, not anymore. So, why the hell am I trying to communicate with her? Next thing I know, I’ll start a séance.

Moving back from the window, I pick up the journal and climb back into bed to let her communicate with me in a way I know she can.

* * *

Dreams ~

I keep having the strangest dream.

This is the third night that I’ve had it, and I have to think that it means something. Right? It always starts with music—Air by Johann Sebastian Bach. That doesn’t surprise me or feel strange though.

I love that piece. I have always found it so peaceful to both listen to and play, so dreaming about it seems natural. In fact, when I was a little girl, I had dreams about all the pieces I was learning by ear. It was probably because I had to play them over and over to get them right.

That’s not what makes this dream odd. No, it’s what comes after it.

It always starts the same with music floating all around me. I’m there, but I can also see myself. Yes, I can actually see, which is a completely unreal situation, even without all the other factors.

I’m down by the river. I believe it has to be the river at the back of the chateau because Phillipe is there as well, and I can see him, too. I don’t know if how I picture him is accurate, but he takes my breath away every time, so much so that I want to stay in my dream just so I can look at him.

He’s tall—that I already know. His brown hair blows gently across his eyes every time the wind shifts directions, and his eyes—wow, those green eyes of his are stunning. When he is looking at me, and he is looking at me in the dream, his gaze is sensual and intense.

He gestures me forward, raising a long arm with his palm open toward me. Without hesitation, I place my hand in his, and our hands lock right together. His hand holds mine and protects it, just like how he protects me.

“Come,” he requests softly, his voice calming me the way it always does.

As I take a step toward him, I feel the soft grass beneath my feet as it tickles my toes. Glancing down, I wiggle them and smile at the fact that I can actually see my toes.

Looking back up at him, he is also smiling, and again, I’m mesmerized by the sight of him. He is beautiful. His lips are perfect, full and soft, and I know exactly how they feel against every inch of my body. As I move toward him, I can see his eyes looking me over from head to toe.

“If we wade out just a little, it will be perfect,” he tells me.

I nod my agreement, trusting him implicitly. I know what he wants from me, and I want to do this for him.

Stepping closer, I feel my long white dress move and flutter between my ankles as I cross the bank to the edge of the water. There is a slight breeze in the air, but I can’t hear it. All I can hear is Air by Johann Sebastian Bach and the sounds of birds floating through the branches. Little yellow birds chirp and hop from branch to branch above me. In just the way he described them, they are happy.

“I went and bought a secondhand violin today,” he informs me, holding my hand.

I can feel the water lapping at my toes, and I giggle softly. “Well, that’s good because I was not going to bring Diva in here with me.”

This is the part of the dream that I love the most. He bends down, and I see his eyes. They are full of love, virtually shining with it, as he smiles right before his lips softly and reverently touch mine. I don’t ever close my eyes in my dream because I am afraid of what might happen if I do. When I open them back up, he might be gone, and I might not be able to see him.

Instead, I slide my hands through his thick hair and squeeze gently as I hear and feel a rumble vibrate through him. When he pulls back from me, he runs a hand down my loose hair and asks me the same question one more time, even though he has asked me one hundred times already.

“Are you sure you don’t mind being in the water?”

I release his hand and step forward, the cool water engulfing my ankles. As I look back over my shoulder, I smile and reassure him. “Not in the least.”

* * *

Closing the journal gently, I sit on my bed in shock. Premonition, I think automatically. Chantel had a premonition of what was going to happen. There is more to this journal entry, but I want to—no, I need to understand what I am reading.

Grabbing my laptop off the desk, I sit down and open up a search engine. Frantically, I type into the bar, Chantel Rosenberg, and it reveals more than 5,820,000 results. Scrolling down, my eyes roam over the salacious headlines and look for an article with some kind of substance. There it is!

Clicking it open, I search through the keywords I am seeing: chateau, despicable, Phillipe, sinful. That’s when, I find exactly what I am looking for.

Today, we are saddened to learn about the shocking death of one of our own on foreign soil.

Miss Chantel Rosenberg, live-in girlfriend to world-renowned artist Phillipe Tibideau, was found dead yesterday at 1:30 p.m., lying seemingly peaceful on the bank of the Fleuve  Sauvage de Fleurs (Wildflower River) in Bordeaux, France.

The French authorities have reported that when they arrived, they found a shocked and somewhat disengaged Mr. Tibideau and a motionless Miss Rosenberg, who was reportedly wearing a long white dress.

One of the policemen went on record. He stated, “Elle a ressemble a un ange,” which translates to “She looked like an angel.”

Full details are still unknown at the time of this release.

As I stare at the screen, I feel a shiver skate up my spine, making my flesh break out in goose bumps.

She had a premonition.

* * *

“Is this far enough?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to where Phillipe is standing.

He’s watching me carefully, and I can feel the water lapping around my upper thighs. I can sense that he is a little bit worried, but at the same time, I know he has no reason to be.

“Would you quit worrying? I’ve been swimming for years. Plus, the water is only up to my thighs.”

I watch as a shaky smile touches his lips, and he nods at me. It’s a gesture I know he must do all the time because it seems so second nature to him, but to me, each time I see it, I enjoy it more. After all, this is only the third time I have actually seen it.